


a matchless instance of disastrous love

by havisham



Series: Disastrous Love [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Exes, Guilt, M/M, Nargothrond Orgy, Unromantic, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and his folk seized all the ships and sailed east across the sea, and they took none of the other companies save Orodreth, Angrod, and [A]egnor, whom Celegorm and Curufin loved.</p><p> <i>  -- The Lost Road and Other Writings, The Later Annals of Valinor<i></i></i></p><p>Afterwards, in Nargothrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a matchless instance of disastrous love

**Author's Note:**

> To forestall any disappointment, I'll say right now the orgy is in going to be in future chapters. I also encourage everyone to use the Nargothrond Orgy tag so it becomes canonical!
> 
> Anyway, you get some wild child Celegorm and hapless Orodreth for now. Happy Valentine's Day.

Celegorm caught Orodreth’s arm as they were leaving the council room. “Come hunting with me,” he said, his tone loud and careless. “I have missed your company of late.”

Once, very long ago, those words would have set Orodreth’s heart a-racing. _Come hunting with me. Come away and we’ll wander. Leave aside your family and duty. Come with me across the sea!_

Celegorm looked much the same as he had done then -- the same fair hair, tied back into a braid, the same handsome, laughing face -- marred only by a faint scar above his right eye, bisecting his brow, made by a Telerin boat-hook. Orodreth himself had stitched it up on the long journey to Middle-earth, trying to ignore the provenance of that wound. 

Celegorm preened at his scrutiny. His cousin was already dressed in his hunting clothes -- had spent the entirety of the council meeting looking at some fixed point on the ceiling, before hurling out his chair at the finish. His foot had kicked at Orodreth’s at several points during the meeting, and when Orodreth had looked him, Celegorm rewarded him with a smile that had too many meanings. none of them good. 

Orodreth flushed and looked down. “Find some other companion,” he said harshly, looking into Celegorm’s eyes and pushing his cousin’s hand away. “I doubt you will be short of volunteers.” 

Celegorm only grinned and looked past him, into the council room. Almost unwillingly, Orodreth followed his glance. Finrod was still inside, with Curufin hovering over his shoulder. They were both deeply engrossed over the new designs for the eastern gates. There was no hope that they would be distracted any time soon. 

“We aren’t needed _there_ , surely,” Celegorm muttered. 

Orodreth said, sharply, “And you don’t need me.” 

But Celegorm still regarded him sadly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “Were we not friends, once, Artanáro?” 

“The sons of Fëanor do not have friends, or least they do not keep them long,” Orodreth said. 

Celegorm shrugged and said, “Come hunting with me anyway.”

“I’m not some young fool you can seduce away, Tyelkormo,” Orodreth sighed. 

Celegorm smiled brightly. “I leave seductions to my brother. I am but a simple huntsman, who longs for some pleasant company.” 

“Liar,” Orodreth said, smiling despite himself, before schooling his features into a more somber mien. 

“True. You are not so pleasing as you once were. Beleriand has soured you, as it has us all. Ah, but such memories I have of your fine --” 

“Enough!” Orodreth sighed. “I will go with you.” 

*****

Ah, but the cool autumn air felt wonderful against his skin! Above him shimmered a bright blue sky, cloudless except for some thin wisps of clouds that swirled gently in the air. Already the leaves were changing, from green to brilliant reds and oranges. There was a tang of smoke in the air, of leaves being burned far away. 

Huan raced ahead of them, in earnest pursuit of a squirrel. Celegorm let him go with a shout of laughter, saying to Orodreth, “Sometimes it slips his mind that he is the Hound of Valinor, and chasing squirrels is beneath him.” 

Orodreth rolled his eyes. He knew Celegorm was baiting him, but he did not want encourage him. 

They rode on, following Huan’s path through the woods. They had not brought any of their men with them, nor much in the way of weaponry. Two bows, beautiful but light, was enough for them. Despite Celegorm’s insistence, Orodreth knew they were not here to hunt, not really. But it was enough, because for the first time in months -- years -- since Tol Sirion fell -- he could breathe freely. 

The forest was not like the mountains he loved most. The air was different, and filled with the scent of drying leaves. But at least it was not the City, at least it was not underground. Orodreth had not gone to a climbing expedition since his marriage to a Sindarin lady of the North. 

(The marriage had been an arranged one, and brief according to the custom of their people, but it had not lacked in love.) 

After Finduilas was born, he fancied strapping her on his back and taking them all to the high and beautiful places in Dorthonion. But that proved unrealistic -- Finduilas was a delicate infant and a sickly child, and Orodreth’s wife had perished along with his brothers, and Orodreth was trapped here, in Taur-en-Faroth, where the hills were low and densely wooded. It was not the same. 

Celegorm sang underneath his breath, words that Orodreth could not understand, though a songbird, landing on his shoulder apparently could. The two chatted for what seemed hours but were probably minutes, and finally, the bird flew off with a parting trill. 

“Nightingales are such gossips,” Celegorm remarked idly. 

Orodreth heaved a heavy sigh. 

*****

In the end, Huan returned with news of a bigger quarry and they plunged more deeply into the woods. The deer they caught was young buck, perhaps a year or two old, and Orodreth knew better to get in Celegorm’s way when it was time to go in for the kill -- slitting the buck’s throat and whispering quiet words of comfort as it died. 

Instead, Orodreth watched the sky and knew that if they ventured back to Nargothrond now, it would very late if they returned that day. He turned back to Celegorm to suggest that they hurry back when he saw that his cousin had begun to set up camp. 

“We shouldn’t,” Orodreth began to say. “We are still in Taur-en-Faroth, and any light will attract unnecessary attention.” 

“No fires,” Celegorm agreed, with a strange gleam in his eye. 

Orodreth did not think much of it; Celegorm was always strange. Instead, he watched as Celegorm took care of the buck, and tried to enjoy what he could of the outdoors. Fresh air. Birds. 

Celegorm chuckled softly. Orodreth ignored him. 

*

Later, Orodreth woke up curled next to Huan’s warm side, opposite of Celegorm, who was also asleep. The sight was so familiar that Orodreth’s eyes began to droop once more before he could rouse himself up again. 

“Wake up!” he hissed, sitting up. Leaves fell from his hair. 

Celegorm stirred and groaned, burying his face in Huan’s fur. 

“What I am going to tell Findaráto?” Orodreth said in despair.

“Fuck Findaráto,” was Celegorm’s reply, sleepy but earnest.

But in truth, Orodreth need not have worried, because it was not Finrod who greeted them when they came back from the hunting trip, but Curufin, who addressed Celegorm only. 

“I am happy to some fresh color in your cheeks, brother,” Curufin said, taking them in with a sweep of his cool grey eyes. “It grieved me to see you so drawn and pale.” 

Celegorm gave a loud dog’s bark of a laugh at his brother’s words and winked at Orodreth, who flushed, though he had no reason to. “It was very refreshing, my dear.” 

*****

“Adar!” Finduilas’ voice carried over the spacious room, sweet yet piercing. “I would like a word with you.” Orodreth stopped his tread and waited for his daughter. When she came, he took her arm and they walked for a while, in silence. It seemed that whatever Finduilas wanted to say, that it would keep. 

They walked through halls of Nargothrond, stopping here and there to admire some new carving or screen. All who passed them did not interrupt their progress, and for some small time, it was as if they were in their own little world, a bubble of peace in a sea of turmoil. 

But no, Finduilas knew no turmoil. Orodreth saw to that. 

He stole glances at his daughter, pride filling his heart at the sight of her. Finduilas had grown early into a fragile beauty that belied an iron will. She looked like him. Her hair lacked the rare silver-gold of Orodreth’s siblings, being closer to the color of light honey. Her eyes were grey, so was his, and her nose was the family nose. But she was far lovelier than them all, Orodreth was sure. 

“Gwindor and I wish to be married soon,” Finduilas said seriously. Orodreth nodded wisely and repressed a sigh. Truly, he liked Gwindor. Everyone liked Gwindor! Though, secretly, Orodreth thought he was a little wild. But Finduilas would steady him, perhaps, as he would liven her. But… 

“You are too young to make such a commitment,” Orodreth said. “Do you know how old I was when I married?” 

“Oh, _no_ , not that again,” Finduilas said with a sigh. “Things are different now. I’m of age and so is he!”

“The Eldar do not wed nor beget children in times of war.” 

“I was born in a time of war.” 

“You were born in a time of guarded peace, short but fruitful,” Orodreth said distractedly. They had had this discussion many times. “I want only for you to enjoy your youth without the burdens of marriage. Gwindor is a fine and noble man, but with people like us, it is not just the man you marry, but the house.” 

In a low voice, Finduilas asked if he distrusted Guilin. 

“I would trust him with my life,” Orodreth said, meaning it. 

“Then why…?” 

“My dear,” Orodreth said, stopping. He cupped Finduilas’ face in his hand, and she held still, flower-like. “I only wish for you to be free for a little while longer.” 

“I do not want to be free, not like that,” Finduilas said, moving away. Her eyes were downcast, her mouth trembling slightly. When she had been younger, such an expression would have been enough to melt all of Orodreth’s objections. 

But he resolved to harden his heart and said, “I have heard that Lady Eirien’s cat has had kittens.” 

“Adar, I am not a child that you can distract me in that way,” Finduilas said with considerable dignity, leading the way to Lady Eirien’s house. 

“Of course not,” Orodreth said agreeably. “I have heard one of them is a stripy little fellow much like Gwinig used to be.” 

“Poor Gwinig! He hardly gets up now, except to move to a warmer spot. I fear he will die soon,” Finduilas fretted. “We will talk about Gwindor later.” 

“Of course, my dear.” 

*****

“What a kitten you are, in your daughter’s hands,” Celegorm whispered into Orodreth’s ear in passing. 

“Do not dare speak of her,” Orodreth said, hands suddenly clenched. Celegorm caught them and loosened them. He bent his head down, as if to examine them, before looking up to Orodreth. 

“I only speak out of envy,” Celegorm said. “You, my brother, how contented you are, to have created such charming and talented children. I think -- what of me? Why do I not have a little hunter to teach my skill?” 

“You did not choose it,” Orodreth said tightly, and a memory arose. Aredhel and Celegorm emerging from the woods, clothes ripped and torn. She wiped the blood from her mouth and laughed, Celegorm looked at her, adoration coming out of every pore. 

And Orodreth, watching them from the trees, his envy as sharp as a knife. Who it was aimed at, he chose not to know.

“She is gone,” Celegorm said, with a distant trace of sadness. “I will not see her like again.” 

Orodreth laughed, breaking the spell. “You are trying to bait me with sweetness. It will not work.” 

Celegorm smiled. “I do not give up.”

*****

He wanted to tell Finrod. But what to say?

_I am falling victim to Tyelkormo’s dubious charms._

_(Again.)_

_Please stop me._

_(Again.)_

Finrod looked up and saw him watching, and flashed him a sympathetic smile. Orodreth felt the brush of his brother’s mind against his, the lightest of touches, but felt relief welling up in him. He was not alone, _he was not alone._

 *****

Of the two of them, Curufin was easier to handle. No one would believe it, but Orodreth knew Curufin, knew how his mind worked, like a plan laid out, eventualities on eventualities, plans with in plans. Follow a thread long enough, and suddenly the labyrinth is solved. He appeared late at night at the door of Orodreth’s office. 

Orodreth, having come back from a long supper waited for him to explain him. 

"I want to see your maps,” Curufin said. 

“No,” Orodreth said. 

Curufin held out a key, identical to the one in Orodreth’s pocket. “This is not a request, but a courtesy.” 

“Then by all means,” Orodreth said, stepping aside to let Curufin through. The key clicked into the lock and the door opened smoothly. A slight breeze from the halls ruffled the papers. 

"Have you mapped the undeveloped caverns under the city? Is there anything there?" Curufin said, ignoring the piles of maps on Orodreth's table to sit on his desk. Orodreth hemmed and hawed, adjusted the angle of this equipment and that before he answered Curufin. 

"Water covers most the caverns, and the air in others are often too noxious to breath. If you hope to tunnel yourself to safety, you will be disappointed.” Orodreth remembered still the first time he had gone down with Finrod, down to the roots of mountains. A strange world emerged in the dark, full of stunted creatures, glowing mushrooms and the odd shuffle of small feet, gone as soon as you turned. He had hear that a race of Dwarves, smaller, uglier, and more vicious than the usual, had lived in the caves that had become Nargothrond. He wondered if some didn't still linger. 

Curufin was watching him, a speculative look in his eye. "So. Artaresto, tell me, why do you -- who goes nowhere -- need for so many maps?" 

"Tell, me, Atarinkë, why do you need a keys for rooms that are already open to you?" 

"I asked first." 

"I like maps," Orodreth said, folding his hands in front of him. 

Curufin smiled. "But all the same, it was my father who taught you about cartography." 

"I taught myself. Feanaro took me surveying -- once." 

Curufin nodded. “That was a good trip.” 

And, showing off his familiarity with Orodreth’s space, he retrieved a bottle of brandy, and poured out two glasses. He took one and gave the other to Orodreth. Orodreth sank into his most comfortable chair, unwilling -- unable -- to fight any longer. He drank his brandy and had his glass refilled. Emptied, refilled. 

Orodreth remembered the first time he had seen The Pelóri up close and found that he was, indeed, true to his name. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë teased him for weeks afterward about his wild excitement, but Fëanáro had been pleased -- curiosity in others could always rouse his own restless passion for knowledge. They had spent the majority of the trip finding ways to measure the heights of the peaks, the composition of the rocks, what little flora and fauna that could be found above the foothills. For all their teasing, both Tyelkormo and Curufinwë became interested as well. 

When Artaresto returned to Tirion, he was bursting with news of his new-won passion. It bewildered his father, but it only made his mother laugh. 

_His mother._

Orodreth felt a sick lurch in his stomach and suddenly he felt Curufin’s hand against his forehead, cool against hot. “Don’t,” he said faintly, feeling his strength leaving him. What had Curufin done? 

Curufin’s voice floated above him, soft and sad. “You were our dearest friend, once. We loved you.” 

“My mother -- you killed her people, I saw you do it. You and Tyelkormo.” 

“You were with us, you pledged to follow us, wherever we led. It did not bother you then.” 

No, the realization had come later, much later, when he had stumbled out his haze of seasickness and saw the ships ablaze. He had always been willfully obtuse when it came to Curufin and Celegorm, he had loved them, and had led his younger brothers to do the same. 

Only death had come from that love. The deaths of his mother’s people in Aqualondë, the deaths of his brothers in Beleriand -- they had sought the most dangerous outpost to regain their lost honor. All had been Orodreth’s fault. Dimly, he was aware of the touch of Curufin’s mind against his. 

Almost by habit -- Finrod often spoke to him in this way, Orodreth opened up -- before remember who he was with. He clamped down his thoughts, but it was too late. 

“You take too much credit,” Curufin said, with a cynical chuckle.

A long silence followed before Orodreth leaned in towards him and said, “Your mind is dark, Atarinkë. You were not always thus.” 

“Perhaps you knew me less than you thought.” 

Suddenly, he could no longer stand it, Curufin’s presence in his space. He needed Curufin out, gone. “Go away!” he cried, trying to rise. His hand knocked clumsily against the glass of brandy and it broke against the floor with a crunch. He fell back again, spent. 

Curufin tsked in disapproval and disappeared. 

Later, when Orodreth woke again, he found Curufin’s key clutched in his hand. 

(His own still rested in the pocket of his robe.) 

*****

“He’s been at you, has he?” Celegorm asked with a sympathetic grimace. His hand strayed to Orodreth's shoulder and then neck. He squeezed, almost enough to hurt. "Losing Himlad was ... difficult on him. You must not mind." 

"He is poison," Orodreth hissed. 

"He is my brother," Celegorm said mildly. "You have known him since his earliest infancy. Would you turn away from him -- from us -- again? We have done nothing but to love you." 

Orodreth wanted to hide his face, to disappear. "This is not love." 

"So why then are you in my bed?" 

And interesting question, that. 

Orodreth had woken from his drunken stupor with a snap. Mechanically, he rose from his seat and left his office, not caring if he locked the door behind him. He noted without surprise that he had with him a set of identical keys. He gritted his teething thinking of Curufin. He had not gone home. 

Instead, he had made his way to Celegorm's door and knocked. When Celegorm answered, his hair mussed and clothed only in a light robe, as if roused from sleep, he looked not at all surprised to see Orodreth at his door. 

When Orodreth pushed inside, Celegorm had only chuckled and kicked close the door. The bolt clicked into place and they felt upon each other, predator and prey. (Though who was who, seemed murky at best.) 

And so Orodreth was in Celegorm's bed. 

“I am here because --" Orodreth felt Celelgorm's mouth worrying the side of his neck. "Not there, anyone can see," he muttered -- to himself, for all the good it did. 

“I do not mind marking you," Celegorm said smoothly. "Honestly, I would not mind tearing you apart." 

"And this is love, you say." 

"It is the best sort of love, for it is honest." 

"Tyelkormo..." 

"It is true Curufinwe resented you for turning your back on us as soon as your kin returned, and for the oaths that you swore, the oaths you made your brother swear." 

"I had to. No, look at me. _I had to_. You did not see how Artanis looked at me, as if she saw right through me. You did not see -- they hated me for what I had done. I was the one who led Aegnor and Angrod away, I had betrayed them! If I did not swear then to be led by Finrod, then I would have had nothing." 

"You would have had us," Celegorm said, fiercely. 

"And so, nothing." 

"Ouch." Celegorm didn't smile. "You prick." 

"I have never pretended to be better than I am," Orodreth said, lying back, looking at the ceiling. He missed, more than anything the feeling of the sky above him. On clear nights in Minas Tirith, he had often chosen to sleep on the roof of the tower. 

It was then Celelgorm lost his patience. Orodreth was only surprised with how long he had kept it. He hissed, pushing his fair hair out of his face and turned to Orodreth, his eyes dark and glittering. He pushed Orodreth down on the bed, put his not-inconsiderable weight on him, so the mattress rose slightly around them. Warmth flooded Orodreth's body, he struggled to get free enough to bracket his legs around Celegorm's waist. They looked at each other, challenge, fear, arousal mixing and melding until it became unbearable. 

"Is this what you want, Artaresto?" Celelgorm asked, all humor gone from his face. He looked ... uncertain, and younger than he had for years. Something in Orodreth ached for him, for the young thing that was now lost. 

"I've wanted it since I saw you again," Orodreth confessed. "And long before that. Surely you knew?" 

"I only wished to hear you say it.”

But soon Orodreth was unable to say anything. 

*****

The sex itself was unsatisfying (much to Celegorm’s unhidden glee) and the guilt, immense. Orodreth was sure he would fall again. And he felt nothing but relief then when Finrod took him aside the next day and said, "My dear brother, what have you done?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Suzelle and Elleth for taking a look at this!


End file.
